Two figures towering in full, articulated plate armor had materialized from the smoke of the plaza. Their heavy white capes were scorched at the edges, and their silver breastplates were heavily streaked with the black, oily ichor of the undead, but their presence was absolute. Paladins of the Sunlight Scripture.
"Silence," the lead Paladin commanded. His voice, amplified and deepened by the steel of his helm, rolled over the plaza like a physical weight. "Panic is the first victory of the enemy. You will hold your tongues, or I will remove them."
"My... my Lord Paladin," the drunkard stammered, his drunken bravado completely shattering. He shrank back, his knees giving way as he collapsed among the spilled wine and broken glass. "They left us... we are just frightened..."
The Paladin did not draw the massive, glowing greatsword slung across his broad back. Instead, he reached down and gripped the man's shoulder. The metal fingers dug in not to punish, but to violently anchor the trembling man to reality.
"We do not hide," the Paladin said, his voice dropping to a low, fanatical rumble that vibrated deep in Lucina's chest. "We stand in the breach. The Six demand sacrifice, but they absolutely forbid cowardice. Look upon us. We are the sword and the shield, anointed in holy light. To despair now is an insult to the Gods who gave you breath."
The knight turned his visored gaze down to Lucina. Faint, golden magical light flared angrily from the eye-slits of his helm, radiating an oppressive, intoxicating aura of pure, unyielding faith. It felt like standing too close to a raging bonfire.
"Junior Priestess," the Paladin intoned. "Can you hold this station?"
Lucina straightened her spine, forcing the tremble from her knees through sheer force of will. She looked at the sea of terrified faces, the bleeding militia, and the bruised, burning sky above them.
"I can," she declared, her voice ringing clear in the sudden, reverent quiet.
"Then pray," the Paladin ordered, taking a heavy step back. "Do not pray for rescue. Pray for strength. Pray for the brutal endurance to watch the world burn and not blink. Keep their souls tethered to the light, Priestess. We go to feed the dark."
He turned in a swirl of scorched white fabric, marching toward the distant, chaotic roar of the barricades. His steel boots struck the pavement in a relentless, martial rhythm. The mob parted for the holy warriors without a single word, their rebellious anger completely dissolved into a desperate, clinging reverence.
"Lucina."
A trembling hand brushed her elbow. She turned to find Kaelen. Her fellow acolyte's face was the color of chalk, his eyes wide, bloodshot, and entirely vacant. He clutched a silver tray loaded with fresh, tightly rolled bandages, holding it against his chest like a physical shield against the surrounding nightmare.
"I... I ran out of clean water," he whispered, his voice hitching in his throat. "I went to the plaza, well, but my hands... I couldn't grip the rope. I couldn't stop shaking. There were things out there, Lucina. Dead people. But they were walking. Their eyes were glowing."
"It's alright," Lucina said softly, reaching out to pry the silver tray from his locked, white-knuckled grip. She gently wiped a smudge of soot from his pale cheek. They were just children, she realized. Nineteen winters old, wearing oversized robes, playing at being the saviors of a dying, screaming city.
"Are we going to make it through the night?" Kaelen asked, a tear finally spilling over his eyelashes as he tracked the Paladins until they vanished. "The Paladins are so strong, but... there's so much fire. There are so many of them."
Lucina looked down at the blood drying on her hands, watching it turn brown and flaky in the creases of her skin. She thought of Father Vance, who had likely already fallen at the outer wards holding the line.
She thought of the heavy, unspoken truths her seniors had taught her in the quiet, candle-lit hours of the cloister: Miracles are rare. True faith is what you have left when the miracles run out. Prayers are always answered when spoken from a sincere heart, but sometimes the answer is simply the fortitude to face a brutal end with dignity.
She looked at Kaelen's terrified, desperate face. He was looking at her the same way the wounded guardsman had. He needed her to be the stone.
"We are the Theocracy, Kaelen," she said, her voice imbued with a quiet, fierce certainty she drew from the very marrow of her bones.
She reached up and grasped the silver holy symbol hanging from her neck, squeezing the metal until its sharp edges dug painfully into her palm. "The Six watch over us. We will hold the light until the dawn."
She didn't know if she truly believed it. The fear was still there, a cold knot in her stomach. But as she knelt back down into the blood and the horror to bind the next shattered limb, she realized her own belief didn't matter. The faith wasn't for her anymore; it was a weapon to keep the dark away from them.
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